


What really matters

by funfan



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, past Marco Reus/Mario Götze - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 21:32:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2597117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funfan/pseuds/funfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone hails the victorious German National Team and Marco has trouble dealing with the situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What really matters

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I started writing this fic before I learnt that Marco was injured again and I liked the fic too much to leave it unfinished. It is set today when the members of the WC squad are awarded the Silver Laurel Leaf (btw much deserved, well done) and they attend the premiere of a movie about their WC-story.  
> I just imagined how it would feel like for Marco, and it's pretty sad, I'm not good at happy things. Hope you like it though and please leave some comments down below, I'm interested in your opinion.

_Another stupid reception_ , Marco sighs as he is lying down on his hotel bed. Another reception for the world champions. Another reception he’s not invited to. The thought still clenches his throat: he could have been a world champion. Hell, he should have been a world champion! Instead of that, he is now alone in the whole hotel, waiting for his glorious teammates to come back and maybe care about him. _The victorious squad_ , he thinks mockingly; led by the most priggish footballer ever and his roommate: Mario Götze.

Seriously, how can’t Jogi see that they are not the friends they have been anymore? Why can’t he respect that they have broken up and Marco doesn’t want to see Mario more than it is necessary? How can’t Jogi realize that they are together with Erik now? He got all the first signs about Mario and him. Why isn’t it the same with Erik?

Marco’s fist clenches. He knows the answer very well. No-one cares about Erik. He’s not even close to the golden boy Mario is. Or at least was before he turned into a douchebag. A douchebag that left for Bayern Munich. A douchebag who scored the winning goal in the WC final and became a national hero. A conceited national hero that is. And a hypocrite.

Marco would lie if he said he wasn’t touched when he saw Mario holding his jersey. But immediately after that, Mario went to kiss Ann-Kathrin. The whole gesture meant nothing. At least not to Marco. It wasn’t meant for him. It was only for the cameras.

He hoped that after his friends returned from Brazil, they would console him. Make him feel like a world champion. A simple visit would have been enough, for fuck’s sake!

But no-one turned up. No-one but Erik. Marco could still remember the young defender’s shy face when he opened his door for him and he could imagine his own. He let him in and embraced him, breaking down and crying on his shoulders. He apologized immediately after he was done. He didn’t know what had come into him. But there was something in Erik’s eyes that comforted him. The defender called off his vacation. _You need me more than I need a few days of rest_ , he said and it warmed Marco’s heart. He spent a week at Marco’s place and neither of them minded. Nor did they mind or were surprised when after a night of drinking they ended up kissing and eventually woke up lying next to each other– naked.

 

* * *

 

Marco must have dozed off, as he is woken to the door being shut and Mario walking inside the room. _Oh, how much I want to wipe that freakish wide grin off his face_ , Marco growls to himself. Mario lies down on his bed and takes a selfie. _Why does he have to be so full of himself? Why in front of me?_ Marco keeps asking himself.

“It was such a big honor, Marco!” He says unexpectedly, his voice full of excitement.

“Yeah, I can imagine.” Marco mutters. Indeed, he almost sees Mario shining under all the lights, nourishing his ego (that doesn’t need nourishing anymore).

“You should have been there.” Mario says not even thinking about how Marco will feel.

“Yes, I should have.” Marco nods sourly as he slams the bathroom door behind himself.

 

* * *

 

They leave for the movie premiere straight after dinner. They are all dressed up in their kind-of uniform. Marco hates it. He hates everything that reminds him of the world cup. The bus takes them to the cinema. They get down and they are instructed to gather at the end of a red carpet. But not Marco. He’s escorted through a back door, like an unwanted guest. Erik shots him an apologetic and worried glance before they part. Marco smiles, only to comfort his boyfriend. He looks at Mario. The brunette is styling his hair, staring into his reflection on the bus’s side. He is ready to shine again.

 

Marco is sitting in the auditorium when the others arrive. Erik rushes to him and takes the seat next to him. Soon he is asked to sit in the front rows, reserved for the players. He objects but the team manager instructs him not to make a scene. Before he stands up, he squeezes Marco’s hand.

 

The whole movie is a slow torture to Marco. He’s sitting between two old men he doesn’t even know, they must be some politicians. His nails dug into his seat’s armrest when the winning goal shows up on the screen. _It should have been his assist_. He knows he can’t withhold his tears. He springs up and rushes out of the dark room. The same moment Erik turns around in his seat and catches a glimpse of him.

 

* * *

 

He isn’t left alone for a long time. Just as he closes the stall door behind him, he hears someone entering the restroom. He sits down on the toilet and buries his head in his hands. There comes a shy knock.

“It’s me, Marco.” The lovely voice says. “Can I come in?”

He reaches forward and opens the door.

“Come on.” Erik stretches out his hand. He takes it and the defender pulls him up. Tears are running down his face.

“Shhh, it’s alright.” Erik calms him down.

“No, it’s not. I can’t stand it, Erik! I can’t stand all the sensation, all the praises, all the glory. And what’s there for me? Nothing. No-one seems to care about me.” He whines.

“Hey, I’m here for you.” Erik smiles.

“You know, how I meant it.” Marco snorts. “And how I say thanks? I’m ruining your whole evening. The evening that’s about you.”

“Do you think I don’t have enough of it? Marco, it’s so exhausting. How much did I play at the world cup? I shouldn’t be a world champion. I don’t deserve it more than you do.”

“Don’t say that!” Marco shakes his head. “You should be proud of yourself. _I_ am proud of you.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Erik asks, but he already knows the answer.

“ _Him_. I can’t stand seeing him. Posing, smiling and forgetting about me. His every motion mocks me. It says: ‘I’m a world champion and you’re not’. And he’s right.”

“You know what? Let’s prove him wrong! Why don’t we win the next world cup with you?” Erik tries to cheer him up.

“It would be great.” Marco laughs and his gloom fades for just a moment. “But it won’t happen. There’s no chance.”

Erik keeps silent for a few seconds.

“Okay. Maybe he is right. Maybe he _is_ a world champion and you are not. Maybe he’s a national hero and you are not. But at the end of the day, his heart is empty. He comes home to an empty house. He wakes up in a cold bed. But you– you have me. We have each other. And that’s what really matters.”


End file.
